Amaterasu
by Zise
Summary: In the barren winter comes a ray of sunlight, passing through the chips and holes of the fortress built from centuries of hate and malice. Madara/OC.
1. Dawn of Worlds

amaterasu; **one**.

"Your name is Amaterasu, my darling child."

_My redemption, the new dawn; the rising sun that scatters the darkness around us._

I accepted the fact that my mother would always be looked upon for continuing to care for me after facing so many protests from the society of Sanrō. My father had passed away, and in true samurai tradition, my mother was to have committed seppuku and joined him in death.

But she was responsible for me. She knew that orphan girls were sold into slavery in our land, that they were never seen again after they had been handed over to those monsters. The word honor no longer held any meaning in Sanrō; only hate and greed brewed within, spurred forward by the slow descent into war.

We had always been a neutral nation—too caught up in our own affairs to handle the issues the world fussed about—and no one had bothered breaking me out of the illusion that neutral could also mean _uncaring._

Nobunaga-sama, the general of the militia, demanded that all males over the age of fourteen begin training to join the forces. If they were physically handicapped, then they would be forced to enroll in the medical field. The last option was of servitude or an execution, of which the family would take the brunt of.

Let it be known that in this demented society, honor was terribly twisted into an evil, evil meaning.

If the family would be shamed by their son's humiliating lack of skill, or even his death, then any attempts of suicide would be useless for the society would be the first to bring out the sword that would cut down the entire family.

No one would be spared, for in Sanrō, _honor_ was greatly valued.

It was sick, but it was what I had grown up around. My mother had only been spared because she was a woman. She was weak and useless, another black strike on the endless list of shamed women. A part of me, one I had always found myself agreeing with, had riled up in protest to this.

_Where was the equality in this? Where had your honor gone, samurai?_

The rest of the world was unbothered by our predicament. They didn't even know we existed, apart from the few stories that slipped out of Nobunaga-sama's vice-like grasp.

The one time I had seen him, I noticed he had black nails. They were sharp, too sharp to have gone without any staring, and I could smell the blood that had dried on those nails, permanently darkening the once innocuous pink.

The General wasn't above using subtle yet effective tricks, it seemed, be it purposeful or not.

Where did I come in all of this, you ask?

Well, I'd like to think I was the one person who had a part in the death of this horrible tradition. From birth, I had been given malicious looks for being the spawn of a tramp. A whore, they called my mother. My blood boiled, ready to rush into adrenaline, and I had almost shrieked and clawed at the man—but my mother had stopped me.

She kneeled in front of me, the most degrading position to be in in front of a child or a woman, and whispered to me seriously, her grey eyes like steel—

"You must never forget. You are fated to be a woman. You are fated to be weak, diminutive, _worthless. _They know that; I know that. But you… you hadn't known that, had you? You might have heard that in this life, we must carve out our own places, be respected for what we do and not who we are—it is wrong. It is a lie. Women must serve, men must lead and that is how life really works."

I stood silently, tears of humiliation raging within my eyes.

"Yet… you cannot expect to be led by the hand, my child. Do what you must, but realize this: your time will come. You can only suffer in silence and bear the pain until it does."

She patted my head gently, a small smile flickering on her pale face. She had aged so quickly, from the seventeen-year old girl to the twenty-two year old mother, caretaker and bearer of burdens.

She was just one piece of Atlas out of hundreds in this world, carrying a weight too heavy for her and still smiling.

I could understand what she was telling me. I was no fool.

"Yes, okaa-san."

"Good girl."

It was from that moment onwards that my life, and perspective towards, changed entirely.

Before, it had been about shielding my mother from harm, both physical and emotional, but now, I realized I couldn't ignore the world.

A woman, not knowing of my birth and details thereof, had told me that in ten years, I wouldn't be smiled at by adults. I would be scrutinized: was I plump enough to bear sons? Was I obedient or disciplined? Did I come from a good background?

I would be an animal being sold in the market.

Unbeknownst to her, it had already started, except the intentions weren't even remotely related to marriage.

I'd have to protect myself, too.

_Would it hurt if I saved as many as I could from the same fate, if given the chance?_

I eyed the kusarigama, the chain spinning in the air as a mere blur—with a simple shift of stances, the man crouched slightly, the chain now weaving through the gap below his arm and behind his back, then through his widened legs, going up to spin over his head and back down in a terrifying motion that could have sliced anyone's head in half, reeking of brute, unrestrained strength and control—

Wasn't this what women lacked—strength?

Had no one bothered to look further in and discover how shrewd and cunning a woman's mind could be?

I snorted; then again, Sanrō was neutral. Uncaring, unbothered, unmoving. The only thing that mattered, in Nobunaga-sama's grand plans for the future, was _honor._

And what honor it was when humans weren't even considered worthy of breathing.

That day, I picked up the same kusarigama that man had wielded, lying abandoned in the weapons' shed in the dead of the night, the training yard undisturbed under the serene moonlight.

As I repeated the same moves, drawing blood and shedding away layers of dead emotion, I realized I had to be better.

To show the world that my mother had borne a hero, not a slave, not a delicate girl of china, nor a pleasant, homely wife that would suffer abuse at the hands of proper society.

I would show the world the value of a single life.

* * *

• n-o-t-e-s •

* * *

So, here I am again. This, time with a better executed plan and a better narrative. I thought I'd break away from the norm and try my hand at samurai-ninja relations. Yes, this is a Warring States period story, which will soon break way into the Founding period within the first half dozen chapters or so. Madara will eventually make his entry, so keep lickin' your lips in anticipation while I slam away at the keyboard.

I realized that while the Land of Iron could literally mean _iron._ I think it was the Tsuchikage who said that had a strange sort of culture within the place, and it'd really fit if there was a dystopian sense of life behind it all. Iron is called Sanrō here because pre-Founding, no one used the "No Kuni" or "No Sato" prefixes, btw. Since the mountain is good cover, the entire basis of the small nation is hidden away there, which allows the samurai to train in harsh weather, too! Isn't that _simply_ joyful. :P

Sorry for the long A/N.

Please **review**, I'd like to hear what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome with armfuls of chocolate!


	2. Remember Honor

amaterasu; **two**.

A bead of sweat ran down my temple, running to the side and mixing in with my hair, twisted into an intricate braid and wrapped around my head. A strand loosened, falling into my eyes. I huffed, blowing it away.

The man stared me down seriously, not willing to take the chance that I just _might _be weak because I was female. His sword was poised at a slight angle, ready to leap into action at the tiniest twitch. In this heat, the thin armor he wore seemed to be soaking it up, as his entire face was heavily moist and flushed red.

As I only ever used the kusarigama, wearing full armor was a waste. I thrived on flexibility and mobility, which would be restricted by the unforgiving nature of heavy armor. Thus, I donned a simple, short kimono and thick black stockings, my feet only protected by geta and my hands and arms hidden by plated gloves that stretched to my bicep.

The man's eyes immediately flicked to my hand when I began to slowly swing the chain in a full, vertical arc.

I licked my lips.

We sprang into action, his sword heading for my less dominant side. As samurai, we were expected to thrive in combat, which generally meant that any weak links were quickly beaten out. For me, that had been my lack of ambidexterity. Our instructor, a frail-looking old man named Tsuneyoshi Toma, was merciless, even for a veteran warrior.

Needless to say, our batch breathed a gigantic sigh of relief when we finished the year under him.

The chain looped around his blade and I held it still with all my might, wrapping the chain around my knuckles for better grip.

The man, Tsuna, grunted as he tried to pull his sword back, the metal screeching horribly. When he tugged more insistently, dents began to emerge on the once-flawless blade. I smirked smugly, and suddenly let loose.

Unwinding with ease, the chain swung like a pendulum towards me. Tsuna swore as he was flung back from the abrupt release of force, his sword clattering beside him.

Wrapping up the kusarigama, I tucked it into my belt, striding over to Tsuna and pulling him up. He wasn't a bulky man, more of a point-and-focus fighter which enabled him to go in quick, strike, and slink away. His lithe, petite build almost reminded me of a dancer's; the long, pretty hair that he kept tied up didn't help that image.

Occasionally, some of the more rude men in the batch called him gay.

The rest of us weren't amused by that.

While Tsuna wasn't the best at direct combat—nor was I, but since I was a primarily evasion-slash-deflection fighter, I could match him pretty well—he was one of the nicest people in our group, which meant most of us kept a lookout for him.

He accepted the hand gratefully, a small quirk to his rather feminine lips.

One of the many things I loved about being in Meiyo no Michi was that no one cared who you were here. You could have been a thief, a prostitute, a beggar or even a noble, and no one would glance at you twice.

I was pleasantly surprised, if a bit thrown off balance, when not a single eye was batted at that fact that I was not male; nor did anyone mind that I was joining the main training course, not the one tailored for women and weak or handicapped men.

Indeed, there had been plenty of female samurai in the past, but that had only held true for the wives of high-ranking samurai themselves. Onna-bugeisha, they were called; their purpose as female samurai was to defend their homes, their family and their honor, if the need arose. Whilst they were not considered real warriors (because, after all, they were women), the onna-bugeisha held more respect than any other female could—even a noble.

At the same time, they had never engaged in honest, bloody battle like I had been in.

In the eyes of our militaristic leader, nothing could be better than having the entire population knowing their way around in combat, regardless of gender for once.

I hadn't seen Nobunaga-sama once here in Meiyo no Michi, surprisingly enough. But I was in no rush to, so it worked out well for both of us.

"Good fight," Tsuna concurred, his eyes slanted in obvious distaste at having lost.

Then again, he had beaten me into the ground the day before. Maybe luck had been on my side today.

I merely offered a lopsided smile at him, about to say something when a familiar screech interrupted us.

All of our heads rose at once to the sky, some dropping their weapons and sharpening tools.

_Screeeeee—!_

"The commissioner's hawk," Abarai breathed, his cloudy gaze following the black speck in the sky.

He promptly stood up, breaking out of the trance we were all enraptured by, and barked, "Quickly, now! He is not a patient man!"

Understanding his urgency, because the last grunt that had been late to reporting to the commissioner was never seen again, we headed in a single, neat file to the main palace, where the high-ranking officers resided.

In Meiyo no Michi, which was ironically named after the bushidō, there were three sections of land.

The main section, nicknamed First Heaven by the rookie officers, was mainly a residential spot with the largest audience hall of the three. It also contained the dormitories for the second and third generation batches—that is, the trainees who had lasted for more than four and six years, respectively.

I belonged to the second generation batch, having joined the program at the age of seventeen.

The Second Earth, on the other hand, was off to the far right of the First Heaven, being more of a battle-pit than anything. A series of rocky, uneven fields were found here, mainly used for weather and terrain conditioning. Second Earth also had a horrible reputation for being the unanimous "shady spot" of the three sections. I, personally, never wandered in there unless it was in broad daylight.

Lastly, the Third Hell was the medicinal wing. It smelled so strongly of herbs that Tsuna had almost fainted on his first visit there. Out of our batch, he got injured the most due to his small stature, which meant I and Abarai were the ones to drag him in there.

Honestly, I could sympathize. The place reeked of crushed neem leaves and sharp citrus. It was disgusting.

We arrived at the commissioner's office two minutes before the allotted five minutes that he allowed. Any later than those five minutes, and his wrath would be a fearsome sight to bear. Not that I had, of course. I doubted he even knew my name.

Hijikata Shizumo was a very cryptic, short-tempered and overzealous man.

"You're on _time_," he noted brightly as we shuffled into a prim-and-proper line in front of him. He probably had the largest office anyone below the rank of Chief Commander could have; his skill, coupled with his temper, was undoubtedly a reason why. "I think I _should_ be surprised, but I _really _can't muster up enough enthusiasm right now."

He frowned.

"Probably because you all look so _dead._ Those are some ugly faces you're showing up to _my_ office with, my dear soldiers."

I didn't know whether I was supposed to have taken offense at that or not. Hijikata-taichō was, after all, noted to have had a few bolts loose in the head. His penchant for sing-songing his sentences was another thing.

It got annoying fast.

Abarai twitched when Hijikata-taichō got up languidly and prowled over to him, tracing his cheekbone down to his jaw with a long, sharp finger.

"_Very_ strong bone structure, Watari-kun. I don't dare doubt that you could stab someone with your cheek!"

I muffled a snort.

He smiled widely, his eyes a little too dark to be truly innocent, and then he sat on his desk, not minding the stacks of paper he was scattering.

"_Sooo, _I'll make this short and super sweet. You guys need to doa _bit_ ofguard duty for a man down south, around the perimeter of the Land of Fire. Easy enough, right?"

"Yes, taichō," we all chorused simultaneously.

"Great!" he cried, clapping his hands so fast that they were barely a blur of color. "I'll send Watari-kun the request details, map _included_. You just pack _up_ for the journey, oookie-dokie?"

Abarai gulped, but managed a small nod. It was obvious that the man was quickly growing to be a creep in his book. Even I found Hijikata-taichō a little disturbing, with his wide grin and dark eyes.

It didn't help that when we turned to leave, I saw a collection of bones stacked neatly in a glass case in the corner of the office.

I bolted out of the room, Abarai laughing at me all the way.

. . .

A scream rang from my left, and I gasped when hot blood trickled down my cheek. The sound of the sword being removed from his body was clearer and louder than a gong's, even in the midst of a bloody battlefield.

A shuffle from behind.

I spun around, sickle flying and chain coiling around the man's neck—I pulled, blade sliding in and chain tightening to suffocate, to kill and to _steal a life,_ and the man was dead within the minute. Another ring from my left, Tsuna moving to block the naginata with his own sword and stabbing the man repeatedly with a tantō he kept hidden under the folds of his long, long robes—

I choked back a bolt of nausea when Abarai spat out a gob of black, black blood. He clutched the stump he had left of his arm, mindless of the carnage around him, his stomach torn open wide.

A massacre.

That's what it was.

"Kotone-kun!" cried a voice—Yamagishi, one of Tsuna's closer friends, I guessed—and I ducked to avoid a swing that would have chopped my head off cleanly. Too cleanly.

Tsuna roared with such vehemence that I felt a chill go down my spine.

Never had kind, gentle Tsuna ever looked so furious.

Yet, as my gaze involuntarily turned to Abarai, half-dead and laughing manically at his fate, I couldn't help it.

I screamed and charged in, knowing that if I came out alive, I would become stronger so that none of this, _none of this, _ever happened again.

. . .

It had been a shock to us when we had arrived.

The house was burning down, there were oddly-dressed people running all over the place and spewing fire from their mouths, men hollering insults and women screaming and shielding their children with their own bodies—it was a sight to behold.

No one of us knew how it had happened.

We were ahead of schedule. It couldn't have been because we were late!

Abarai quickly issued orders to us: split into duos and fight as if it was your last battle. It didn't help the anxiety most of us were facing. This was far from being our first real mission, it was ridiculous how nervous we felt, but there was something ominous about those fire-breathers that tickled me the wrong way—

"Shinobi," hissed a man from the back, and I immediately understood that both sides wouldn't come out alive.

Samurai had always been a reclusive group. When Sanrō had been formed, the then-general had valiantly fought off hordes of shinobi clans with his loyal men to claim the land for their families to safely live in. While they were greatly down-numbered, they prevailed, and a civilization had begun.

A century passed, and no one dared mention shinobi again.

It was like an unwritten rule: samurai and shinobi had a bloody history.

Before the rebellion of the shinobi, samurai had been the majority. They had been the leaders of the military of shoguns and emperors and lords. They had been treasured, revered, loved, admired; they were the pinnacle of human perfection.

Every samurai was fluent in kanji, flawless in health, undefeated in combat and above all, their chivalry and heroics went unrivaled. Shinobi were renegades, sometimes professionally trained and used for assassination missions that samurai were too bold for, but they were the lowest level of filth that could be. Sayings went around that a shinobi wasn't even worth a samurai's dirt-stained boots.

It was obvious that one day, the shinobi would rise up and push back.

And they did.

It was a bloody affair, which left both greatly injured and underpopulated. In the end, samurai were pushed to the corner of the globe, left to dwell in the icy mountains and wintry storms. Sanrō had been a last resort for our civilization, providing a tall mountain that covered the small city and warded off heavier blizzards.

Life went on, and contact between the two was completely nonexistent.

Until now.

"Fucking shinobi," he repeated, slightly awed while being horrified at the same time. "We're not gonna live through this, I know that, but I'll be damned if I surrender to them!"

With an enraged yell, he ran into the fray, swords drawn, his partner hurrying to parry the blow headed for his back.

"What a fool," Ittōsai remarked blandly, drawing his katana slowly. "If he does not die by their hand, he will be killed by our superiors for being so rash."

He, too, leapt into the battle, instantly killing one with a stab through the shoulder, slicing through to his other side without much effort.

I resisted the urge to cringe.

"Let's go," Tsuna murmured in my ear.

Steeling myself, because I could hear the screams and cries of pain and see the red being splashed on the concrete, I flashed him a fake, plastic smile and inclined my head.

"For honor," I mumbled.

_For honor and nothing else._

I kept repeating the mantra, choking and bleeding out and killing the _enemy_, even when a shinobi created an inferno of blazing fire that surrounded us. I focused on honor and nothing else, as I also thought of a way to eradicate the final barrier towards victory.

He was tall with black hair and pale skin that had blood acting as war-paint, streaks of red on his cheeks and forehead. His gaze, however…

It was maniacal, murderous.

"Go, _now!" _Tsuna yelled, using his spare sword to create an x-barrier, holding off a heavyset man who seemed intent on dicing up my friend into tiny little cubes.

I didn't know where Abarai was.

Quickly piercing the shinobi's jugular and leaping away, I rushed at the man who tamed the fire, controlling it with ease and burning down my world with it as he went—he didn't even see me coming.

A wrap of the chain around his neck, Ittōsai appearing out of nowhere and piercing him through the heart, another samurai coming down with his poleblade—the man had no chance, fire dying as quickly as it rose.

His blue eyes rolled up into his head, short hair matted with blood.

_Honor. Remember honor._

I felt sick.

* * *

• n-o-t-e-s •

* * *

I totally loved the response the first chapter got. I love you all soooo much. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I was so charged with energy and joy that I pumped out this chapter at full-speed.

If you didn't get the message: I love you. Seriously.

SO. I'm sorry if I ruined your moment of fangirlism. Heh. **That man was **_**not **_**Madara.** In fact, you'll soon see that there were no Uchiha in this chapter. Sorry, again. *not really*. Tell me what you liked (was the fight alright, did I do some technical wrongs here, was it realistic enough) and what you didn't (confusing sentences, plot issues, character problems).

All of that goes in a **review**, just so you know.


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